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An Imperfect Life
poetry by Fr. Harold Macdonald
The time has come again to say “God died
for us”: impossible to contemplate!
The divine nature joined to human hate?
God’s Word, the second Person, mortified ?
So great a love in mortal end condensed
the Infinite pressed into infamy?
Knowing all things except contingency
(time’s struggle, joys, the failures, discontents),
God, from within, dies human death in Christ.
Each inch of life, each weak’ning breath, each loss
each insult, pain - the shameful cross -
pay all our debt; Christ’s death sufficient price.
Now within the Infinite, unique “I am”
God’s Self includes the murdered, living Lamb.